Synchronicity
by LotrHpHoo
Summary: When three chance encounters throw Yurio together with an old friend from the Grand Prix Final, he is forced to face up to the feelings he developed all those months ago. "What were you looking at over there? Did you see someone you recognise?". Yurio cast one last glance across to Otabek's table in the far corner. "No." He lied. "No one at all." "


Okay! First Yuri on ice fic! Yayyyy! This story isn't entirely my own, I wrote it co-op with my friend (Nordicsawesome if you want to check out her profile) , so when you're reading, notice that all the good bits are probably hers! Hope you enjoy!

 _Synchronicity_

The cheap wine glass smashed onto the floor at probably the exact same second Yurio's mind exploded.

"VICTOR!!!"

A couple months after the finale of the grand Prix seemed to have signified a slight lapse in training requirements for Victor and Yuuri, the couple preferring to spend their afternoons as they wanted, mostly doing (Urgh) couple-ly stuff. Not for Yurio however. His coach was pushing him harder than ever, encouraging him to try harder and harder jumps, stretching his capacities to the limit. And that was why, reluctantly, mind you, he had eventually agreed to Yuuri and Victor's requests to get out for the evening. Well… He did need a break.

That didn't mean he wasn't regretting the decision now. He glared at the broken glass decorating the cheap Indian restaurant carpet for a moment, then spun his focus to Viktor. He growled.

"Yurio! I'm sorry, I wasn't looking!" Protested Viktor weakly, waving his arms apologetically and threatening to knock over yet another cup.

Yurio opened his mouth to snap, "Sorry doesn't cut it! For a world figure skater you are shit with coordination!!!"

" Yurio… he's only like that off the ice…" murmured Yuuri. Viktor looked like rainbows were about to erupt out of his ears as he beamed and hugged his boyfriend. Yurio mimed gagging motions. Honestly, you would think Yuuri had just proposed or something. Oh. Wait. He already had.

A nervous looking waiter shuffled over, apologising for the delay. He began to sweep up the mess and Yurio sat down.

As he scowled at the other diners, his gaze caught suddenly with a figure near the back. It was a man who was hunched in the corner with a rather appetising looking plate of some red curry. And he was smirking.

Yurio's face paled for a split second, before flushing bright red.

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. What was he doing here? It had been months since he had last seen that familiar face, not since the Grand Prix Final, but he would recognise him anywhere.

Otabek Altin, the Kazakhstani skater whose expressive, fluid movements on the ice had captivated him so long ago. After the Final, he had pushed the skater from his mind and hoped (or so he told himself) that he would never see him again, this man who had caused such uncomfortable emotions to trouble his mind.

And yet, here he was, in a cheap Indian restaurant of all places, sniggering as he watched Viktor drape himself all over a very flustered (but undoubtedly pleased) Yuuri. Quickly, Yurio morphed his face into a ferocious scowl. He wasn't staring at Otabek at all – and if he was, it was purely out of irritation at him for laughing at Viktor's misfortune. And he wasn't blushing, either. He was just angry, that's all. Like he always was.

To his even greater annoyance, Otabek didn't seem even slightly fazed by his glare. If anything, it just amused him further, and his shoulders shook in what appeared to be suppressed laughter. Part of Yurio wanted to march over and slap him, but he barely managed to restrain himself; he figured that Viktor and Yuuri probably wouldn't be too pleased if he got them kicked out of the restaurant in the middle of their little love-fest. Instead, he just huffed and turned his back pointedly, grabbing a menu to hide his flushed face. It was way too hot in here…

"Yu-ri-o~" Viktor's sing-song voice rang out, fond and teasing. Yurio glared at him. It was obvious his senior skater had had far too much to drink; his face was flushed, his top buttons were undone, and his voice was slurred as he slumped against Yuuri affectionately.

"What?" He snapped.

"What were you looking at over there?" It was Yuuri speaking this time, because Viktor had already lost focus and gone back to petting his boyfriend like a cat. "Did you see someone you...recognise?"

Yurio cast one last glance across to Otabek's table in the far corner. The other skater was still watching him openly, causing him to flush lightly once more and turn quickly back to Viktor and Yuuri.

"No," he lied. "No one at all."

With any luck, he wouldn't be seeing Otabek ever again.

*

Shopping on Saturday was difficult. Especially when you were. Yurio strained to see over the bobbing heads of the crowd, yet his attempts were in vain; the swarm of people filled the entire Street, clogging up shops and getting on his nerves.

"OWW!" He swore loudly as a high heeled torture device slammed into his foot, causing several people to cough and look his way. Scowling, he shoved them away; his aim was the store across the street. Ignoring the stumbling tourists and muttered protests, Yurio

The bell jingled and he stepped inside.

He let his angry face slip for a second, as he surveyed the mostly empty book shop. Whilst he was actually only here for the Stationary, the booky scent and muffled sound of page turning comforted him somewhat. He took a deep breath, then, scowl firmly back in place, he made his way over to the pens and notebooks.

Yurio ran his fingertips along the shelves of pens and pencils and rulers, frowning in displeasure. Reluctantly, he pulled the crumpled list Yakov had written out of his hoodie pocket and examined it, scowling.

Pencils, black and blue biros, geometry set, highlighters…

It went on and on, listing pretty much everything he could see in the isle. He swiped them from the shelves and into his basket, not looking at how much they cost because it wouldn't be him paying anyway. Yakov had been the one to come up with the subject of Yurio's education – something that had been as good as forgotten during the pressure of the Grand Prix – and who had insisted that he come and pick out study materials for the next term, so there was no way that Yurio was going to pay for useless crap like this. He had no intentions of using it, anyway. After all, what was the point in studying when he already knew that his future was going to be in skating?

He checked over the list once more, then, satisfied that he had everything he needed, screwed it into a ball and dropped it onto the linoleum floor. Casting one last loathing glance towards the 'Back to School!' section, he turned on his heel and strode away to find the pay desk.

Then paused. He stopped, eyes wide, staring at the unrolled poster partly crumpled on a display table near the far wall. His heartbeat sped up suddenly. Cautiously, he reached out to lift it up, angry that his fingers were trembling, and held up the sheet of paper in front of him.

His eyes flickered over the image. Seriously? He thought.

"Nice poster... Admiring yourself Yuri?" A voice sounded behind him.

Yurio jumped. What!? He spun round, startled.

"B-Beka…?" He stammered. Otabek smirked, and Yurio blushed red, realising his mistake.

"I mean! What the hell are you doing Otabek!? I swear you're stalking me or some crap!" He slammed the poster back onto the tabletop, breathing deeply. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He was furious; why the hell had he bumped into Otabek twice in the same week, apparently coincidentally. He'd blurted out the stalking line from reflex, but what if the man was actually following him? It wouldn't be too difficult, if he just checked Yurio's social media… He snarled in his head, but there was also a part of him that was secretly thrilled.

They'd agreed to be friends right? Maybe… there was a way where they could actually keep up that promise?

"NO!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Uhhh…" Yurio cursed himself for blurting his thoughts out loud. It tended to happen a lot when he was verging on mad. He shoved the offensive poster to the side and made to move past Otabek.

"Anyway." He replied to himself sharply, "I need to buy these."

"Not the poster?" Otabek grinned, making Yurio flush again, against his free will.

"No." He snapped, and went to purchase the goddamn pens.

He marched out the store, missing the slight tint to the other skater's cheeks as he picked up the discarded poster.

*

It had just gone 7am, and the ice rink was deserted except for one lone skater as he glided effortlessly across the ice. Yuri liked the early morning emptiness, the way the air was still and silent save for the soothing scraping and clattering of his skates as they connected with the ice. Without the distracting chatter and squealing of the many admirers who often gathered in the gallery, it was easier to perfect some of the more difficult jumps before Yakov arrived.

Or at least, try to.

"Ow! Damn it…" For the fourth time in the past few minutes, the tip of Yuri's right skate hooked behind his left ankle and sent him sprawling forward against the hard ground. He wasn't used to failing, and he was fed up of it already. But Yuri Plisetsky was not one for giving up.

Gathering his strength, he hauled himself up off the ice and tried again.

And again.

And again.

"Argh, why won't it work?!" He yelled in frustration, finding himself on his hands and knees once more. "I'm supposed to be good at skating! I won gold, goddamnit!"

The memory of his win gave him the motivation to give a few more attempts, but finally he had just had enough. Sitting down there and then in the middle of the ice, he prepared to yank off his ice skates, march home and call it a day.

That is, until he heard the sound of slow clapping behind him.

"Not bad, not bad," A low voice said. "You could have put a bit more height into that jump, though."

Instantly, he recognised that voice. It was not Yakov.

His face flushed a rich, fiery red. Not only was Otabek here, at his rink, for God knows what reason, but he had seen him fall. Repeatedly. That was humiliating, and it hurt more than Yuri would like to admit.

Standing up off the ice, he prowled over and grabbed Otabek by the front of his jacket, yanking him down to eye level. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

To Yurio's satisfaction, Otabek appeared slightly taken aback by his sudden move. His eyes opened wide for a millisecond, until he pulled back, removing Yurio's clenched hand from the material of his jacket.

However, he stayed leaning down, so they were face to face. Suddenly Yurio was the one feeling intimidated by the close proximity, and his already flushed cheeks beamed brighter. But for a different reason entirely… God damn it.

Otabek opened his mouth to speak,

"My training rink is closed," he said bluntly, "I've come here to train."

"O-oh," Yurio stuttered out. Now that Otabek had justified himself, he'd suddenly run out of words to defend his actions. They continued to stand there, Yurio struggling to think, and the nineteen year old with his usual impassive expression. What had he been doing again? Training… was it? Oh God! He couldn't think! This encounter had pushed everything of relevance from his mind. He'd been practicing quads, and then he'd been angry for some reason, not that he wasn't usually angry…

Warm breath tickled his nose. WHAT?! He bounced back to reality, suddenly realising how much closer they'd drifted in his brief lapse. Their noses were mere inches apart. Abruptly, he shoved Otabek back, who stumbled somewhat before righting himself.

"How long are you going to be here anyway!" Yurio spat out. The other man glanced at the deserted ice, running his hand up and down his arm, in almost a nervous manner, before answering,

"Maybe a week or two… apparently they're having pretty big issues…"

Yurio turned so he was also facing the ice, and gripped the side barrier. A whole week? Maybe two? The notion of spending so much as a day – an hour, even a minute! – in the same rink as Otabek sent inexplicable shivers down his spine. He could already picture it in his mind; Otabek's lithe body arching gracefully as he performed elegant leaps and perfectly streamlined turns; his sparkling eyes and flushed face as he raised his arms triumphantly at the success of a difficult sequence; those strong hands lifting Yurio up from the ice and guiding him through those impossible quads, with a soft smile in his eyes…

Once again, his face flushed a humiliating shade of red. Godamnit, he shouldn't be thinking like this! Otabek had said he wanted to be friends, and nothing more. No matter how Yurio felt, there wasn't so much as a chance Otabek felt the same way, so he just needed to push aside those thoughts and get back to practise.

After all, it was only for a couple of weeks at most. He could manage that, surely. No problem.

When his face had cooled, he folded his arms and glared up at Otabek with as much fury as he could muster.

"Fine…" He muttered. "I guess I don't have much choice but to deal with it. But…d-don't expect me to talk to you or anything!"

Then he turned and bolted away onto the rink, hurtling into a perfect quad as the sound of Otabek's warm laugh rung out behind him.


End file.
